


Give Them the Ol' Razzle Dazzle Darlin'

by Empathy_S_Snitch



Series: Give Them the Ol' Razzle Dazzle, Darlin' [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-04 12:28:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empathy_S_Snitch/pseuds/Empathy_S_Snitch
Summary: In which I jump back into writing!! :DThis is for my fren, Biohazrat!!!I have nyo I idea what I'm doing bear with me gsldknfI update at least once a week!! Nyo promises!!Ily all enjoy I guess gflaksdnf





	1. Calm Before the Clown Show

Give Them the Ol’ Razzle Dazzle, Darlin’

Gift for Biohazrat!! :D!

Although it was becoming second nature for Rhys to go out on espionage missions with Deacon, it certainly WASN’T the case for this particular mission. No amount of training or experience could possibly prepare Rhys for what was to come.

I did NOT sign up for this, thought Rhys, mind racing and heart beating frantically in his chest. He feared it would burst out of his chest, and a small part of him wished it did, in an odd sort of way. He desperately thought back to how this all started, trying in vain to spot the very moment everything turned for the weird.

It was your average, everyday morning in the Commonwealth, the sky obscured by a blanketing of grey clouds and a slight chill in the air. Rhys yawned loudly, still trying to wake up fully. There was a small puff that appeared when he did so that promptly dissipated, another indicator on the Commonwealth’s approach to winter. He rubbed his eyes and stared out blearily from a bench near the Railroad HQ, facing the grey waters of the ocean below. He didn’t hear as much as sense Deacon approaching, noisily plopping down next to Rhys with an audible sigh. Months spent traveling with the older spy taught Rhys many things like how to talk yourself out of trouble or, as he was soon to find out, how to know when Deacon was nearby.

Rhys thought back to some of their first missions together, chuckling silently at his own reactions of “Where did you come from?!?” and “Deacon where are you?!?”. A familiar voice pulls him from his reminiscing, all joking and nonchalant. “I said is anyone home? What’s so funny and does it involve me?,” asked Deacon, his bald head catching the first rays of light and seeming lighting up with them. The sight, coupled with the older spy’s comical pout made Rhys bark with laughter. Gosh, was there ever a time Deacon’s antics didn’t pull him from brooding? That answer would have to wait as Deacon launched into the next mission they were to do. Talk of mirelurks and strange creatures with an even stranger fog enveloping them soon changed to wild stories that were surely made up in Deacon’s absurd imagination. Rhys just nodded, half hearing him and half wondering just how shiny his head could get should he wax it.

“And that’s why we need to bring three Brahmin as a snackrifice to the mirelurk mother,” Deacon concluded, voice hushed and edged with worry, his ginger eyebrows laced with concern.

“Bullshit,” Rhys answered with finality, getting up to stretch and head back to HQ for supplies before heading out.

“But I’m telling the truth! Cross my heart!,” Deacon cried out somewhere behind him, seemingly still where Rhys left him.

“Wrong side, Deac,” Rhys answered without even turning. He knew full well that Deacon didn’t cross on the right side of his chest, seeing as it was a trick that had worked on him before.

“Booooo,” Deacon retorted, suddenly right beside Rhys. He was used to it by now, but remembered a time where it freaked him out every time Deacon popped up unexpectedly.

After about 20 mins, the duo set off on their mission, much to the relief of everyone back at HQ. The next few days were filled with a wild adventure, from new creatures to the Children of Atom and everything else imaginable. By far, the hardest part of it all was having to go through the Captain’s Dance just to be on good terms with the Far Harbor locals. Rhys never wanted to so much as look at a mirelurk again, much less a queen. Five days after leaving the Commonwealth, they received an invitation from DiMA, stating that there would be a celebration for rescuing and bringing a few runaways into the safely of Acadia.

“I love parties! My favorite part has GOT to be ‘pin the tail on the donkey’!,” Deacon chimed, practically vibrating with energy.

“What are you, 6?,” Rhys answered dryly, thinking back to the kids’ parties of a world long past.

“Why, do you want me to be?,” Deacon drawled, a coy expression plastered on his face.  
Rhys stared back at him, utterly confused as Deacon waggled his eyebrows at him. Confusion soon turned to a pair of wide eyes and a face as red as a tato.

“W-what?!?” Rhys spluttered, much to the amusement of a currently howling Deacon. The rest of the way to Acadia was filled with crude jokes at Rhys’s expense, raunchy laughter and the occasional sock to Deacon’s arm. By the time they reached their destination, Rhys was scarlet in the face while Deacon nursed a sure to bruise spot on his arm with much exaggeration.

“You ready?,” Deacon asked, a slight grin still gracing his slightly flushed face.

“Yeah yeah..,” Rhys grumbled, eyes looking everywhere but the spy right next to him.

He was, in fact, not ready in the slightest.


	2. The Clown Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry y'all
> 
> Just Dance: Fallout Edition

Acadia seemed as ordinary as it ever had. Or so the duo thought. Once entering, muffled music could be heard emanating from somewhere in the lower floors of the synth base.

Rhys and Deacon exchanged glances of amused confusion before heading to DiMA’s room ahead. Once they went in, however, they found it empty. More glances of silent communication passed between the two before they decided to check out the lower levels. They followed the sound of upbeat music to the second level where most people could be normally be found. Most people was an understatement. The entirety of Acadia could be found dancing to cheerful tunes; Cog’s usual corner was transformed into a refreshment stand where both he and Dejen were serving all sorts of drinks and snacks to the partygoers, while the main room was decked out in handmade decorations all throughout the walls and ceiling. Those who weren’t dancing or grabbing a quick snack were found scattered along the walls, chatting happily and cheering on the small group of dancers.

Deacon let out an impressed whistle, of which caught the attention of several of the partying synths. Loud cheers and scattered clapping followed their entrance, and DiMA approached them from one of the clusters of wallflowers.

“I couldn’t thank you two enough for rescuing one of my own, please, make yourselves at home here in Acadia. We’ve even managed to put together a small thank-you for your services,” DiMA stated, soft voice somehow still audible despite the merrymaking in the background.

“You’re very welcome my metallic friend,” Deacon piped, breaking into his signature grin. Rhys rolled his eyes, a chuckle escaping him. Deacon’s grin widened into a full on smile, eyebrows raising mischievously.

Rhys had learned by now that Deacon could be somewhat unpredictable at times, but this time he’d really take the cake.

“Say uh, DiMA my guy, bet I could rule Acadia as grand master,” Deacon drawled lazily, head leaning to the side as he crossed his arms decisively. Rhys, however, was slowly losing all color in his face.

Oh no. Not like this.

DiMA quirked a non-existent eyebrow, clearly confused at the spy’s claim.

“I don’t think that is a feasible option, friend” DiMA spoke, voice slowing as if that could get through To Deacon better.

“Of course it is! What better place to have a dance battle?!?”

God. NO.

“Deac God no please-,” Rhys began pleading, but it was obvious his cries for mercy were falling on deaf ears. If Deacon’s smile could get any wider, his bald head would split in half.

Rhys reached for Deacon, but like a bad dream come to life, he was far out of reach before he could get very far. All Rhys could do was stagger back and collapse in a nearby corner, watching with growing despair as Deacon cleared a wide circle among the previously dancing synths and trotted to the middle. In true Deacon fashion, he began flailing randomly, loudly proclaiming his in-depth knowledge of pre-war dances, ‘Thanks to my good friend Rhys!’.

Much to Rhys utter horror, he watched DiMA watch and slowly begin mimicking Deacon, either out of curiosity or just to go along with Deacon outlandish claim.

It was one thing watching Deacon make a fool of himself yet again. He could handle being dragged into another idiotic scheme of his.

Watching a centuries-old synth try and awkwardly do the same while still trying to keep their usual grace was just too much.

Rhys began howling, from sheer madness or from the completely absurd scene before him, even he couldn’t tell. Surprisingly enough, the synths were all for it, some even joining in and cheering DiMA and Deacon on with claps and cheers. Off in the distance, Rhys could see poor Chase wheezing with laughter and Faraday caught between horror and amusement. One of the synths came up to Rhys to pat him on the shoulder and congratulate him for getting DiMA to join in, but he was so lost in his own nightmare that he didn’t even notice, nor did he notice when the synth left to enter the fray before him.

After a never-ending 20 minutes passed, DiMA finally called it quits, the old synth just too tired to continue such strenuous activity. Faraday quickly darted over to help him get his bearings, shooting narrowed glares at the still erratically dancing Deacon and managing a sympathetic glance towards Rhys.

Rhys was very much still collapsed in his corner, dried trails of tears running down his cheeks. He didn’t even notice Faraday’s attempt at sympathy, hollow eyes seemingly aged a thousand years as he continued watching Deacon dully.

Five whole minutes of more bullshittery from Deacon later, the music finally stopped and the synths cheered loudly for ‘Deacon the Dancing King!!’. Deacon made his way over to Rhys, absolutely heaving for air, head shining from the excess moisture and a winning shit-eating grin on his face. As soon as he got close, Rhys whipped his hand out and slammed him into the corner next to him, fixing him with a death glare that would’ve made Glory proud.

“Ow hey! That’s no way to treat your new King!!,” Deacon whined, clearly enjoying himself.

“Deac.”

“Yes my dear Rhysie?”

“One word of this out of you, and I’ll feed you to the fucking Mirelurks.”


End file.
